Dress Rehersal
“Dante.” Plue’s voice sounded more than a little grated. Dante didn’t flinch, perse, but he did kind of… prepare himself. If his suspicions were correct, it was a conversation that they had had a few dozen times before already (even if it was no less serious). He steeled himself, and turned around to see Plue rubbing the bridge of her nose so viciously he worried that she’d saw right through it. “Do I even want to ask what you’re wearing?” Dante looked down at himself, scrutinising his outfit. A short-sleeved hoodie on top of a on top of a sports skin (long-sleeved). He also had on a pair of shorts and some shoes. A bit weird, maybe, but definitely nothing for her to complain about. “I don’t know, do you?” He asked, to stall for time. It didn’t work as Plue gesticulated wildly with her hands. “I thought I threw those shorts away!” She yelled accusingly. “Well…” Dante’s mind whirled back and forth between “come up with an outrageous lie” and “admit that he’d dug the shorts out of the bin”, and eventually settled on the secret third option of saying nothing at all. Plue rolled her eyes. “You know, the last time you wore those, someone had an epileptic fit.” “You’re exaggerating.” Dante assured her, not sure whether or not she really was. “I’m sugar-coating it.” Plue assured him right back. “It was AT LEAST one person.” Dante looked down at the shorts again, staring hard at the psychedelic swirls of red and white and black. “Also,” Plue continued, “they look like swimming trunks, and there isn’t a pool where we’re going.” Dante folded his arms. More than anything else, the disappointment was from the fact that there wasn’t actually going to be a swimming pool. Swimming pools were great, and why anyone wouldn’t have one (aside from funds) was beyond him. “You’re sure about the whole pool thing?” He asked. Plue threw her hands up to the heavens. “Take them off. Find some actual trousers.” She said in a tone that left little-to-no room to argue. Dante nodded his acceptance. It wouldn’t be worth the trouble, the part of him that was an abject coward told him. The rest of him kind of shrugged its shoulders and was all “yeah, that guy’s got a point”, so he nodded again (just to be sure) and folded his arms. “Are we good now?” He asked. Plue’s response was to actually glare at him, and he held up his hands. “Whoa, okay, I guess not. What else is it?” She eyeballed him. “Dante, this is supposed to be a formal event. Formal formal. Honestly, in an ideal world, you’d just be wearing a suit, but I figured I’d be asking too much from you if I asked you to wear- like, an actual proper suit. So instead I’m going to ask you to do a few other things: replace the hoodie with either a jacket or a blazer, and…” She sighed. “I don’t even know what those things on your feet are supposed to be, but the formality means you need vans or something bare minimum. No trainers or hiking boots.” Dante looked down at his feet. Admitted, the shoes with thick rubber soles and twenty pairs of laces each were probably not the best thing for a formal event. But he couldn’t just… admit that! “But I like the hiking boots!” He argued instead. “I like them too.” Plue told him. “But this is just how it is. I’m not saying I’m happy with it, but we need to… we need to play the game.” “Oh!” Genuinely a bit stunned that Plue had turned his usual phrase on him, Dante clutched his hand to his chest melodramatically and fell back onto the stairs. “Oh! You used my phrase on me!” “Yes, I did.” Plue looked almost proud of herself, which Dante supposed was an improvement. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.” “But you… you hate ''it!” Dante argued, standing up and unzipping the hoodie, throwing it across the room and onto a waiting sofa. “Like I said, desperate- times…” Plue trailed off as she saw his shirt – it had a giant gun on it and a caption underneath that said ''gun fun. She remained silent for a bit longer before dragging her fingers down her face. “And these certainly are desperate times.” Dante checked his wrist, only to find that instead of the watch there was a plastic counter on a string. Oh, right, the watch substitute. “Plue, what’s the time?” Plue dug around in the pockets of her blazer before producing her pocket-watch (pocket-watch!! He loved her) and glancing at it. “We have, like, fifteen minutes.” She told him. “Game’s over. Go change.” Sensing the change in mood, Dante obediently began to slink back upstairs. However, a few steps in, he paused, overcome with an idea. He turned back to Plue. “Can I at least keep the-” “''No!''” Category:Stories Category:Short Stories